Towers and Basements
by vcatrashfiend
Summary: Belle picks up the pieces of her shattered existence and takes a stand. AU since finale.
1. I Hold With Those Who Favor Fire

Towers and Dungeons

By vcatrashfiend

Rating: M for swears, Deranged!Belle, and violence

Author's Note: To my readers in the "My Fair Lady" fandom, I PROMISE I will return to "A Better Man"... soon. However, I found myself obsessed with the "Skin Deep" episode of 'Once Upon a Time', and this plot bunny had fangs and I had to write this. It's a one shot for now, and it is at this point, unbeta'd.

To clarify things: Belle is referred to as Rosalie/Belle when she is in cray-cray mode, Rosalie when the curse seems to be working, and Belle when she starts to remember her former life. Again, forgive the roughness of it. This bunny hit at midnight, and I had to get it on to the computer and published ASAP.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, especially the quote from "I Am The Walrus". That's The Beatles.

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><p>She was an anomaly. A freak. That is what the lady with the wicked eyes had muttered the first time (was it the first time, though?) that they had met in her prison cell.<p>

"What is your name?" The woman had asked.

"Belle. I've seen you before in the forest... but I've never seen a forest..."

"No you did not, and your name is Rosalie French. You are the daughter of Moe French. Do you know why he had to have you institutionalized?"

"I was taken to the tower when the dark man wouldn't keep me. Papa didn't want me anymore. Dirty girl..."

"This is not a tower, Rosalie. This is a hospital."

"Oh."

"You are here because you are promiscuous, violent, and see things that are not there. You are a threat to society."

"I've been here a long time, haven't I? Decades..."

"Years, Rosalie, not decades. You were brought here as a teenager, remember?"

"I would that I could walk through the walls. He didn't have enough time to teach me..." Her brilliant blue eyes focused on the door beyond the wicked woman.

"You can walk out the door when you are well enough. You merely have to stop convincing yourself that you are this Belle woman... and you need to stop attacking the orderlies. They are on my payroll, and the insurance costs are bankrupting me." Belle/Rosalie smirked as she appraised the wicked woman's ensemble. Heels of the softest leather, a beautiful suit of burgundy wool, tailored to hug her svelte frame nearly perfectly, nails polished and gleaming, hair perfectly coifed. Her scent was exotic, and expensive. A spray of blood oranges and something else... Belle/Rosalie was suddenly self conscious of her chipped and dirty nails, her dirty hospital gown, and her matted brown hair. Not self conscious enough to suppress the ironic grin that stretched and pained muscles no longer accustomed to the expression.

"I am sure that is not what is bankrupting you, dearie." The wicked woman paled slightly, the faintest ghost of a frown crossed her beautiful features, and then the mask of composure was back.

"I can keep you down here forever, you know."

"You've said that before... only it was 'up'. What goes up, must come down..." Belle/Rosalie laughed at her own joke, laughed so hard and for so long that she began to cough. The woman in the suit backed up against the door, as though afraid that the younger woman carried some sort of disease.

"Something about the madness that the clerics beat into you must have interfered with the curse."

"What curse?" Rosalie blinked confusedly, her eyes filling with tears, and her lips trembling. "Where is my Dad? Why doesn't he come to visit me anymore? I promised I would stop running around with those boys... Who are you?" She began to sob in earnest, bringing her knees to her chest and burying her face against them as she hugged them tight. She heard a sigh of relief from the strange woman.

"The nurse will be pleased to know that you are lucid, Rosalie. She will no doubt write a glowing report about it. You only need to hold on to yourself, hold tight and never let yourself fall again. Do you understand?"

Rosalie nodded against her knees, her slight frame still wracked with sobs. "I promise I will. Only please let me out of here."

"We shall see."

The woman left, and Rosalie was unable to keep her promise. The woman never came directly into her cell after several visits turned futile, and one turned violent. Rosalie/Belle had grinned for hours after, clutching that fistful of hair that she had managed to yank off of that bitch's head. Eventually several orderlies had to be called to pry it out of her clenched fist. She had fought them off, like a rabid dog unwilling to share its' bone. The attack on the woman she had come to learn was the mayor ensured that her medications were increased in dosage exponentially.

Nowadays she just sat and stared at her four walls, occasionally catching those mad "visions" in her mind. She saw a life that seemed to have once been her own, but the scenery had changed. There was a man, always a man. He said he was not a man, but Rosalie... Belle knew different. How she had cried for him in that tower! His name had exploded from her lips with every snap of the whip for a very long time. He had not wanted her. She was a princess in a tower, and the prince was too indifferent to care. Eventually her cries for him to save her became curses for his slow, agonizing death. How she had hated him!

But who was he? Had she ever been kept in a tower; beaten and abused? Certainly her back tingled and burned with a phantom fire every time she recalled that life.

_ I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together..._

Rosalie/Belle snapped out of her reverie at the sound of the approaching music, and her lips curled into a sneer. The head nurse's son had recently come into employ at the ward. Apparently, he was a little mad himself, and therefore willing to take on the job. He had stayed longer than the others, certainly. Rosalie/Belle appreciated that he liked to carry around a portable radio. Music was something she had gone without for years until he came along. It was a shame, really. He wasn't a nice boy by any means, but she felt bad that she was going to risk losing the music with what she was about to do.

"Luke..." She practically cooed. It was time.

"Rosie." He peered through the peek-hole, revealing a chubby face, spiky black and purple hair, and nearly feline eyes. The effect was completed with he grinned, revealing unnaturally pointed bicuspids.

"What time is it, Luke?"

"Lunchtime, Rosie."

Rosalie/Belle rose from her seat, giving him her most devastatingly lovely smile. She had cleverly been able to fake taking her pills earlier that morning. She needed all of her wits about her, and she wasn't sure that she had that many to begin with.

"Did you nick the keys from your mum like I asked?" She had been cultivating this plan for ages, ever since that fat little bastard had started working at the hospital. He had been dazzled by her looks from the start, despite her bedraggled appearance, and had spent the first week of his employ whispered lewd suggestions to her, as she sat in a drugged stupor. Perhaps the dosage had been a little weak the day she realized what he was doing, and by extension, the power he was handing her. She had flirted little by little after that, dancing around the subject of her incarceration, hinting and promising things if only he would come into her cell. No one was allowed in there alone anymore, not even with the amount of drugs that were being put in her on a day to day basis, and it took four men to escort her to the showers once a week. But she would be as harmless as a kitten for Luke, she had promised. He was different from the others. They were kindred spirits. It amazed her, how easily she could feed him those lies, how honeyed and cool they appeared. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

Now, with three whole weeks of medication stuffed into her mattress, it was time.

He was at her side with surprising stealth, a fat paw clutching at her knee, his lips pursed expectantly as he leaned in for the kill. He nearly fell forward when Rosalie/Belle leaned back.

"Have you got a cigarette, Luke?"

"What?"

Rosalie/Belle rolled her eyes. "S'been ages, and I can smell them on you. I won't kiss you unless you give me one."

"You'll have to do more than kiss me if I give you one."

"Give it." She ground out her command through clenched teeth, her eyes dark. Luke blanched, and then complied, as if remembering the warnings he had heard of what she was.

"I need a light," Rosalie/Belle remarked, cigarette dangling from her rosy lips. Luke was a bit slow, but he was no fool. Gallantly, he lit it for her, and then pocketed the lighter.

Rosalie/Belle took a few drags, and let the smoke curl out slowly from her lips. She knew it looked appealing to the boy, and somehow managed to repress the urge to hack and cough at the taste. She tossed the cigarette to the ground, disdainfully, the thing half-smoked. Luke frantically jumped to his feet to put it out.

"Why would you do something like that? Now they'll know someone was in here!" Rosalie/Belle laughed at Luke's distress, and he turned on her, eyes wild and wide. He dove his hands into his pockets, and swore as he found neither keys nor lighter. With a violent cry, he swung his fist at the mad girl, knocking her to the ground. She continued to laugh as he straddled her, although the sound became choked as his hands closed around her throat.

"Give it back to me!" He screamed, spraying spit into her face. Still she laughed. He released his grip in order to hit her again, when her knee came up and connected with his groin. Luke released her completely, and rolled onto his side, crying in pain.

Rosalie/Belle grinned down at him, aware that the flames from her bed were beginning to rise. How very much like a demon she must appear to him, she mused. Suddenly a long forgotten memory came to her. A jest... a quip.

"It used to be my job to skin babies like you," she taunted before kicking him in the head and knocking him unconscious.

Within moments she was dressed in his uniform, and hurrying out the door. She zeroed in on a supply closet and sought refuge. Once the fire alarms went off, and the crush of bodies would begin to crowd the hallways, she was blend, and finally be free.

When her plan continued to play out, she resisted the urge to laugh. She remembered someone teaching her sleight of hand at one point in her life... one life or the other, she wasn't sure. Magic without having magic, they had explained. She would kiss the genius who had instructed her if only she could remember who it was.

The sunlight was blinding as she made her way onto the front lawn of the hospital. No one noticed her as of yet. Everyone was too panic stricken to notice the orderly in the too-large clothes, and the comically oversized shoes. She kicked them off, and revealed in the feeling of the green grass beneath her feet. Heaven. It had been too long.

She moved away from the hospital, down the sidewalk, the pavement hurting her. She had no idea where she was going, but she was going somewhere... anywhere.

The man.

Rosalie/Belle stopped in her tracks as he appeared in her line of sight, hobbling with a limp and a cane. He was different, but it was him. Her heart pounded wildly against her chest almost to the point of dizziness. Finally, he noticed her as well, and was likewise stunned.

She had caught a quick glimpse of him in his current form when she had...

Anger rose to the surface, and she sprang forward, taking long, purposeful strides towards the man she had once loved. She wanted to tear out his heart and drink from it.

"Was she better than me?" She heard herself scream. Belle remembered it all, and she was not pleased with this development. He still made no move, only stared at her like a man possessed.

"Prettier? Funnier? Obviously she helped you get over your fear of being loved, didn't she?" She was standing mere inches from him, glaring murderously, and willing him to say something, anything.

When he took her in his arms, and pressed her against his body as tightly as he could, she fainted.


	2. Did You Say Your Name Was Ramblin' Rose?

Towers and Basements

Chapter Two: Did You Say Your Name Was Ramblin' Rose?

Author's note: Thank you for the overwhelming response to chapter one! The first chapter in a new canon is always nerve-wracking. You never know how the fans of the show are going to react.

Anyway, the title of the chapter and the song Belle sings is from a Grateful Dead song called "Ramble on Rose". I thought it was appropriate.

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><p>Mr. Gold completely forgot the reason for his afternoon stroll the moment he saw her. She was, without exception, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. His beautiful, angry, dirty, bloodied love was headed in his direction, practically flying to him. The outraged cries of betrayal coursing from her lush mouth had to be the sweetest melody he had ever heard, for it was her voice speaking to him once again, and not under the guise of some fevered dream. Prettier than her? Who in existence could be so? Funnier? Who else but her would ever understand his twisted sense of humor?<p>

She was so close, he could kiss her if he wanted. She wouldn't want, he dimly realized. She was in too much of a foul mood, and would probably end up tearing his lips off with her exquisite teeth if he tried. Who had bloodied her nose? Who dared? Rage began to boil over the surface. Someone had kept her from him, and had mistreated her. Her. The only thing he could do to prevent tearing off in the direction of the hospital and viciously beating everyone in a uniform, was to pull her into his arms.

She was not as soft as he remembered. Sharp angles jabbed, and he was self-conscious of the fact that he may be crushing the poor girl. She was as delicate as a bird, and painfully thin. Panic rose in his throat as she collapsed against him in a dead faint.

"Belle..." Forgetting his bad leg, he dropped his cane and picked her up. She weighed almost nothing. It akin to carrying a small child, or a sack of potatoes. The sight of fire trucks barreling towards the hospital caused him to turn his attention. About a hundred yards away, people were pouring out the front doors of the hospital, and moving away from it in a frantic pilgrimage. There was smoke. For several long moments he looked from the hospital, to the girl in his arms, and back again. She was dressed as an orderly, but she appeared as though she had not seen sunshine in a very, very long time, nor was she groomed like someone who was taking pride in their appearance for a job.

Clever, clever girl. He would have laughed, had his throat not felt so painfully constricted.

It occurred to Mr. Gold that lingering with a suspected arsonist in his arms so near the scene of the crime was not the best of ideas.

"I will make this go away, my girl. Don't you worry on that account. You're safe with me." He doubted that Belle would be in agreement, were she conscious. The most likely scenario was that she hated him, and rightly so. He did not know how long she had been locked away, but had he been aware, Gold would have left the world all bleeding to save her.

He should have known Regina had lied. Why had he been so accepting of the falsehood?

No matter. The bitch would pay, but not before giving him the names of Belle's abuser. That person's end would not be nearly as elegant as what he had planned for Regina.

First thing was first, he had to get Belle to safety before anyone took notice.

"Mr. Gold!" Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Ms. Swan."

"I was just coming to see you to inform you of the property damage to one of your buildings and... What is that?"

"It's a girl."

The sheriff sighed impatiently. I know it's a girl. What is she doing in your arms? Why does she look like she just escaped a hospital?" The blonde's eyes widened. "Oh, god..."

"Walk away, Sheriff. Pretend you never saw this."

"I can't."

Gold narrowed his eyes, teeth bared in a slight snarl. "I would consider it a personal favor if you did."

"This is your favor? Who is she, anyway?"

"Do you recall my run-in with Moe French?"

Emma Swan gasped, looked around, and then back to Mr. Gold and the unconscious girl. "You plan on carrying her back to your place? Even if I pretend I didn't see anything, I don't think other people will be as willing." The weight of Belle, and the pain in his leg started to take their toll, and Mr. Gold faltered ever-so-slightly. "And I don't think you will even be able to make it to your shop on foot, let alone your house."

"Yes, there are several contributing factors preventing such a maneuver. However, you seem to have a car nearby, do you not?"

"Hold on..."

"My favor, Ms. Swan-"

"Was for me to look away while you walk off with a key witness to a hospital fire!"

"You thought I meant to merely 'look away'? Oh dear, I meant 'make it go away'... and to also escort my guest and I to my home."

"Guest..." The sheriff scoffed.

"Time is of the essence, at this point."

Emma narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "You won't hurt her?"

"No one will ever hurt her again, of that you have my word."

The blonde stood pondering for a few moments, studying Gold's face for signs of falsehood. Finally she said, "Hide. I will be back in a few minutes."

Mr. Gold resisted the urge to collapse to the ground in relief. At the sound of approaching sirens, he adjusted Belle's weight in his arms, and made his way behind an obliging hedge, crouching behind it. Granted, he was currently in someone else's front lawn, but it was more than likely he owned the lawn and the house on it, so he found it doubtful anyone would say a word about his presence.

Belle stirred in his arms, and his heart nearly stopped. The brilliant blue eyes he thought he'd never see again opened, and focused on his face. She grimaced.

"Belle."

The eyes he was seeing for the first time in nearly three decades widened, and suddenly Belle was shoving at him. "No! That kind of talk is dangerous." She cried before practically rolling out of his embrace. She started to stand up, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.

"Stay down, you silly girl!" He hissed, dodging a slap to the face.

"My name is Rosalie French, not Belle. If you call me that, she'll never let me go!"

"Shhh..." He managed to grasp the other hand. "Listen to me, Belle-"

"No-"

"Stop struggling and look around. Are you in the hospital?"

Belle looked around wildly, and then back to Mr. Gold. "Who are you?"

His heart shattered into a million pieces.

"You knew who I was a moment ago, Belle."

"Please stop calling me that." She shook her head. "I don't remember... how did I get here?"

"You don't... you escaped."

A tremulous smile appeared on her lips, and her eyes glistened with tears. "I did?"

"Yes, my brave girl. I am a friend. I won't hurt you."

"You won't send me back?"

"Never."

She studied him, and her eyes widened once more when she took in the blood stain on his dark blue tie. A slender white hand flew to her nose, where she discovered the source of the blood.

"Your beautiful tie... I'm so sorry."

He shrugged, and smiled at her, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, handing it to her. "It's only a tie."

"Who are you?" She repeated, dabbing at her nose, wincing in pain. The anger rose up in him once more at the sight of her distress.

"Mr. Gold."

"Your first name?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up on the other side of the hedge. Belle panicked, and started to rise once again, intent on running away.

"No, dearie, don't run. You're in no danger."

"Gold? Your escort has arrived." Emma peered over the hedge, smirking at the sight of the dignified man crouching on his knees in the dirt.

"Be-... Rosalie, this is Emma Swan. She is a friend."

The painfully thin, haunted girl looked up at the blonde, suspicion evident in her icy stare. "It is nice to meet you, Emma Swan." There was no warmth to her voice.

Minutes later, Mr. Gold had Belle secure in the backseat, while he sat up front with the sheriff.

"It's not going to be easy to fix this investigation, Gold. Regina-"

"I will take care of Madam Mayor, Ms. Swan."

Emma turned on the radio, eliciting a sigh from the backseat.

"I love music. Can't carry a tune, but I love it." Gold turned back and smiled fondly as Belle closed her eyes and reveled in the music.

"Just like New York City, just like Jericho; pace the halls and climb the walls, get out when they blow..." She sang in a thin voice. His Storybrooke Belle was a Deadhead. Who knew?

"She will need medical attention." Emma stated.

"I have a personal physician that will attend to her. She won't be going back to that hospital."

"I'm insane, not deaf," Belle flatly remarked.

Gold turned back to her, glaring. "You are not insane!"

"You don't even know me. You say you're a friend, but I've never seen you before in my life. I'm only coming with you because any place is better than there."

The venom in her voice shot through him like an arrow. Was she pretending she didn't know who he was? It wasn't too long ago that she was yelling her head off, accusing him of finding someone else to break his curse.

How did she have those memories, however fleeting, in the first place?

"How long did they keep you in that place?" He asked.

The Girl Who Was No Longer Belle shrugged. "Forever, it seems."

The rest of the drive was conducted in silence.


	3. I'm Only Sleeping

Towers and Basements

Chapter Three

I'm Only Sleeping

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><p>Gold emerged from the master bathroom that connected to his bedroom to find a dirty, bedraggled girl sleeping on top of the covers on his bed. He had been so busy explaining the the various functions of the bathroom to her, that he had not noticed she was no longer behind him, drinking in the information. Perhaps the tour of his home <em>had<em> been a little long winded up until that point.

Belle was sleeping on his bed. He took a few moments to process that information. Granted, he had given her express permission to use his bedroom until he was able to ready one of the long abandoned guest rooms. Gold, of course insisted that he would be sleeping in the living room, if he needed to sleep at all. The fact of the matter was he rarely slept, a fact that was not likely to change any time soon. Not while he still had to wrap his brain around the fact that Belle was alive.

Alive, and sleeping in his bed. He had rather hoped such an occasion could have waited until after she had bathed, and Ms. Swan had returned with the spare clothing she had promised. Beautiful as Belle was, her hair had smelled awful when he had held her, and she was now rubbing that grubby little head into his favorite pillow.

But she was alive. She was safe. She was snoring.

He had never had the opportunity to discover how loudly his little beloved snored.

He noticed once again how painfully thin she was, and was tempted to waken her in order nourish her poor body. His poor Belle. She had suffered and it had been all his...

Not his fault. Moe French's fault. Regina's fault. Not. His.

The doorbell rang.

"It's about time, Ms. Swan." He grumbled, as he headed downstairs and towards the front entrance. It rang again.

"Patience, dearie; I'm an old cripple."

He flung the door open, expecting to see Emma Swan bearing some utilitarian ensemble that would do for now for his sweet Belle.

"Madam Mayor."

Regina stood tall and regal. Her expertly applied makeup, expensive black suit, and tightly controlled expression undoubtedly masking her rage.

"I hear you've taken in a guest."

Gold smirked at her, wanting nothing more than to bash her dark head against the doorframe over and over again. "Maybe I have."

"Aiding and abetting is a serious crime."

"Not if there isn't a crime."

Regina's eyes widened ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. "Rosalie French is a dangerous inmate of what was once the hospital's mental institution, I have a witness testifying that she attacked him, and escaped the facility, but not before setting her bed on fire."

"I would like the name of that witness... please."

"Luke Tremaine," Regina responded automatically, but in a tight, slightly pained tone. Gold often wondered what the compulsion set off by his 'magic word' felt like within the queen.

Gold nodded, and then stepped aside. "Come in and have a seat in my study, your Majesty. I think we have a great many things to discuss."

Regina obeyed' without waiting for 'please. He imagined it must hurt like hell, especially when she tried to fight it. She followed him into the study and was ushered into a large, chocolate brown leather armchair. Gold thought she looked like a petulant child in the too-large chair, glaring across his desk at him.

"Are we about to make a deal like the one that got you out of jail? You broke that, by the way."

"Katherine showing up alive from wherever you kept her broke that deal. You really need to be much more careful about where you hide your toys, dearie." He smirked, delighted with the irritated blush that spread across her pale cheeks.

"I will not make a deal over this. I am going to tell you exactly what you are going to do. You will make the fire look like an accident, if you _please_. I will take care of the witness. Rosalie French will be officially released from said hospital... _please_. And, if you _please, _you will no longer have contact with the girl ever again."

Regina was trembling with rage. Her mouth pressed into a tight lipped line, and her nostrils flaring. He noticed her knuckles had gone white from clutching the leather arms of the chair. He hoped that she wasn't digging her nails through the soft material. The person whom he had taken that chair from had paid alot of money for it.

"Fine."

"You will thank your lucky stars that I don't rip you limb from limb for what you've done, and after I managed to help clear your name in Katherine's disappearance."

"I had the girl's memory wiped; you did nothing."

"You were sloppy, and I cleaned up your mess! This is how you repay me, Regina?"

"Belle was old business."

"You told me she died!" Gold was beginning to crack. Now he was the one trembling, and on the verge of raging at the world. Regina's composure returned, and she gave him her most satisfied, feline grin she could manage. She rose to her feet and walked towards him. The desk only kept them about two feet apart from standing face to face.

"She nearly did. Actually, in a way, she is dead. Perhaps it's better you have her in this state. I am sure it will crush you the more you get to know the girl as she is now." Regina looked down and trailed a manicured hand back and forth along the polished cherry desk top, her eyes flashing with malice. "She's been split in three, Gold. The curse backfired on her. You will have faint traces of the Belle you knew from time to time. She probably hates you."

"Then there is Rosalie French. She was supposed to be in the running with Ruby for town slut before the curse just transplanted her straight into the basement of the hospital. You were supposed to watch as she went from man to man to man, without looking at you twice... but this is better. When she's Rosalie she's just a frightened, confused little girl with absolutely no fighting spirit. She's a dead leaf echo of the girl I took from you."

"Oh, and the third part of her is pure animal. It's the part that attacked that boy, leaving him for dead. The part that brutally attacked countless orderlies, and nearly killed me. That part... well, she's almost like you. You may laugh at the fact that she tried to kill me, but she's not discerning. I imagine you will want to put her down like a dog after a while."

"Get out," Gold ordered through clenched teeth.

Regina chuckled. "Enjoy her, Gold." With that, she turned on her high heels and removed herself from his presence.

The moment he heard the front door close, Gold hobbled back to his bedroom, nearly falling down the front stairs in his haste to get back to Belle. He flung open the door, terrified of what he would find.

She was still sleeping. Still breathing. Still innocent with soft snores, and tiny fingers curled over a pillow. He sat at the armchair next to the bed and watched her. He was her loyal sentry, and nothing could touch her while he was around. He would not let anything harm her, regardless of her state. If she woke up as the animal Regina described, he would let her tear at him with tooth and nail, scream at him, rip out his heart if she preferred. If she was Rosalie, frightened and spiritless, he would take her in his arms and whisper to her that all would be well, and that she was a brave, dear girl.

He would spend hours on his knees, begging for forgiveness if she was Belle. Let her be Belle, was the mantra he replayed in his head.

His watch was interrupted by the arrival of Emma Swan. He took the clothing and female toiletries from her without offering to let her inside.

"How is she?" Emma asked before he could shut the door in her face.

"Sleeping." He replied, shutting the door and locking it with a distinct 'click'.

He was halfway down the hall when he heard the sounds of his shower running. She was awake. She was in his shower. The thought nearly caused him to drop the contents he was carrying. Carefully, he snuck back into his room, noting that the door to the bathroom was open. Keeping his eyes down, he crossed over to the bed and set the clothing and other things on the edge of it where she would be able to find it.

"Thank you!" He gave a violent start when he heard that. The girl was vigilant, to say the least, whatever manifestation she was at the moment.

"I will be downstairs in the kitchen. If you go to the left when you head down, you will see a hallway. Take that hallway all the way down to the end and you will find me. I'll have dinner waiting."

She repeated her thanks, and he made his retreat. Talking to an almost certainly naked Belle was not something he was prepared for.

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><p>Author's Note: The threat of Regina has not been neatly written away due to technicalities of the 'Please' compulsion. She has her ways... :) Also, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews and all of the little notifications I get saying that I've been added to various lists. It is a good thing!<p> 


	4. Prometheus

Towers and Basements

Chapter Four

Prometheus

Author's notes: Special thanks to my betas, Jacqueline and TrueLove'sMiss, the latter of which has some VERY wonderful stories for this ship. Couldn't do it without you, ladies! Also, thank you for the continued support from my readers. Just a warning, this chapter takes a definite trip to the dark side. Blood and broken bones galore from here on out.

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><p><em>She left the Dark Castle, just as she was told to do. Remarkably, it was not raining that day. Belle had read thousands of books in which it always rained when one had to embark on a journey with a broken heart. The blue skies and sunlight mocked her pain, making it worse than if it had been a tempest outside.<em>

_ She was unsure of where to go; only that it had to be far away from _Him_. Belle wasn't quite sure whether she was more sad or angry. She _was_ extremely angry. It twisted at the muscles in her back and shoulders, and churned deep within her stomach. It caused her nails to bite into the delicate palms of her hands, leaving vicious, red half-moon marks. The sadness seemed to be pushed back into an out of reach place in her mind. It pulled at her heart, tightened her throat, and pushed tears out of the corners of her eyes, but it was a dried out stream surrounded by an inferno._

_ She looked back, and saw that _he _was watching her from his tower. Belle lifted her chin defiantly, and then did the one thing her nurse had always told her no lady should do. She spat at the ground, spun around, and walked away. Had it been a childish thing to do? Yes, very. Did she feel better? No, but she was fairly certain he had seen, and she hoped that the gesture stung like hell. Stupid man. She hoped the silver candlesticks and then fob watch she had taken from him before she left were things he would miss. _

_ The elements conspired against her once night fell. Belle was still miles from the nearest inn, days from her father's home, and the frost that fell about the forest was the killing kind. She spent that first night in a makeshift home, constructed from twigs and foliage, nestled between two large oaks. Her cloak provided very little protection, and she lacked the key ingredients for a fire. The mere fact that she had not died in her sleep that night had been a miracle._

_ The next day proved warmer, and she managed to reach the inn by mid-morning. Situated in a plain, but warm room, Belle wrote to her father, informing her of his return. She hoped that Rumpelstiltskin would still honor his end of the bargain in protecting the kingdom. She had not broken any deal with him, he had driven her out._

_ She stayed at the inn for three days. In that time she managed to develop a mild drinking problem, and dispense romantic advice to a love lorn dwarf. The advice had been encouraging and heartfelt... and mostly brought on by the ale she was consuming. Belle found herself to feel less and less bitter about Rumpelstiltskin's rejection when she drank. It made her more nostalgic for his presence, if anything._

_ At the end of the third day, her father's men came for her. They did not speak to her, and she thought they were a bit rough, as they ushered her to the carriage. Belle did not get indignant with them. Undoubtedly her father was displeased with her, and had instructed the men to not treat her with the usual deference. It was orders they were following, not an actual need to harm her out of malice._

_ When Belle was brought to the Great Hall of her home, she was shocked to not find her father sitting at his throne, but _her.

_"My friend, the Queen," Belle murmured by way of greeting._

_ "What was that, my dear?" The Queen inquired, cocking her head to one side._

_ Belle performed a curtsey, trying very hard to bite down on her resentment in the face of the woman who had destroyed her life._

_ "Your majesty."_

_ The Queen rose from the throne, and walked towards Belle in a slow, deliberate fashion. Belle felt positively bedraggled in comparison to her majesty's artfully styled hair and face, and tight black ensemble. The Queen was an elegant dragon, and Belle was a brown field mouse._

_ "Your father does not wish to see you, Belle. In fact, he wrote me as soon as he knew you were returning, begging me to intercede. He felt that I could help to clean the black mark of your association with the Dark One by taking you under my wing. If your choice of partner had not been so... intriguing, I would never have even bothered."_

_ "I'm to go with you?" Belle asked with a gulp. The closer the Queen came to her, the more Belle felt her courage falter. She felt as though the older woman was going to open up her jaws, and snap them down upon Belle, devouring her whole._

_ "Yes. I would like to help you. Just because you were the whore of a demon, doesn't mean you are hopeless."_

_ Belle's eyes widened. "I never-"_

_ "Do. Not. Take. That. Tone. With. Me. ... Dear." The Queen looked to her left and to her right, where two guards flanked her. Without waiting for an order, the men approached Belle, and each grabbed an arm, dragging the girl from the throne room._

_ "Make sure you keep an eye on her during the journey, boys. Who knows what sort of magic she picked up living with him."_

_ Belle was certain that being taken under The Queen's wing did not mean becoming a lady-in-waiting._

_ She was right, of course. After nearly a week's journey with no rest and very little food, Belle was taken to the edge of a dark lake. From there she was dragged onto a boat, and ferried out into the water for a good hour before they reached a black stone tower. _

_ Belle thought she had known what pain was. Once, when she was a little girl, she had insisted that her father buy her a stallion. Everyone knew full well that she was a tiny girl, and that a pony would suffice, but Belle would not have it. After a month of wheedling, her father caved. The horse was more beautiful then Belle had imagined it when she was reading about it in one of her story books. Her father forbade her from riding it until she had been properly taught, and never without supervision._

_ Belle did not like to be refused anything._

_ One night, she snuck into the stables, saddled the horse with all of the skill an eight year old could manage, and crawled on top of it. With a kick and a 'hyah!' she managed to get the stallion to leap over his pen. Unfortunately he leapt too high, and Belle was thrown headfirst into a nearby beam with such a force that knocked her unconscious for nearly a week. She lived in a feverish, pained existence, dreaming of her dead mother, the destruction of the kingdom, and a brutal end to her beloved father. She had nearly died of the fever that followed the concussion._

_ That was a scraped knee. It was nothing._

_ Pain was her whole life in the tower. Clerics were constantly at her side from sun up to sun down. They brought fire, and beatings. Sometimes they brought water, but only to hold her head underneath it for what felt like hours. The worst thing about it was that every night when they left, The Queen would emerge from the shadows with her magic. She would murmur her spells, and Belle's flesh would knit and heal, only to be torn and scorched the next day._

_ She had become a myth she had read long ago. Someone had stolen fire, and they were punished by living day after day having their body torn asunder, only to heal for another day's torture._

_ She was Prometheus. She had not succeeded in stealing, but she was punished all the same. Perhaps it was because she had failed._

_ Belle tried to escape once. She looked down the tower one night, and found the stones jutting out at such angles that she was certain with a little strength and clever footwork; she would be able to manage to climb down. She managed to make it halfway down the tower before she fell._

_ The landing did not kill her, but she knew she was on the threshold. Every bone in her body was broken, and something wet bubbled at her lips every time she drew breath. The darkness was closing in on her, and she welcomed it._

_ The Queen found her before death could claim her. For her punishment she was only healed bit by bit every day. Just enough to keep her out of the grasp of death, just enough to keep her conscious and aware. She no longer had the strength to do anything, but if she had, Belle would have used it to roll out of the window of the tower and finish the job._

_ Then came the fog. Belle noticed it from outside of her window, curling closer and closer. A laugh that wreaked havoc on her shattered ribs burst forth from her lips. Perhaps it was him! She had long given up on Rumpelstiltskin ever finding her, but perhaps it was. He was going to coat the whole world with his wrath, and hopefully end her misery._

_ The clerics were frightened by her raucous laughter, and then were even more so by the black fog. They fled the tower. Belle raised one healed arm toward the smoke, stretching her fingers to greet it like an old friend._

_ "Rumpelstiltskin," she murmured as it engulfed her._

_ When it lifted she was in the basement of the hospital, in a windowless room. She looked around confusedly, when suddenly she was hit with a blinding pain radiating in her skull._

_ It hadn't been a horse, she had been hit by a car... or had she? Her name was Rosalie French... No. No it wasn't. Thousands of new memories tried to intrude on the ones she had kept for years, and she fought it. It wasn't right. That wasn't her._

_ Now they were existing in tandem. She could not close her eyes without seeing relentless flashes of a duel existence, hammering viciously against her skull._

_ She thought she had known pain in the tower. _

_ Belle felt an agonized scream tear from her lips. She screamed until she tasted blood in her throat. She screamed until the people in white came, and then poked her in the arm with a needle. After that, she did not do much of anything..._

Gold was beginning to worry. The spaghetti he had prepared was getting cold, and Belle... Rosalie was not showing up. He wondered if she had gotten lost. His home was rather large, and it was easy to get turned around if one was not familiar with the territory. He decided to investigate.

What he found caused his heart to jump into his throat. Rosalie was wandering the halls in an oversized V-neck tee and blue jeans, barefoot, throwing open every closed door she found, and sobbing as she did so.

"Miss French," he whispered. She gasped and turned to him, her brilliant blue eyes glittering with tears.

"Why did you close the doors?" She asked in a tight voice, before crumpling to the floor in loud, wracking cries. He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his lap, allowing her to sob against his neck.

"I'll never close another one, I promise. Shhh... Don't cry my girl." He was perilously close to tears himself, though he would never let it show.


	5. Three

Towers and Basements

Chapter Five

Three

Author's note: Thank you for my two betas, Jacqueline and TrueLove'sMiss for picking up the pieces of overlooked tenses after I decided mid-chapter to change them. :)

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><p>He watched her devour the plate of microwaved spaghetti from across the table as though it was her first meal in years. A part of him wanted to warn her to slow down, breathe, digest, but he was afraid that any words from him might startle or break her. The amount of collarbone straining against her pale, delicate skin is frightening, and a testament to the squalid existence she must have lived in that hospital.<p>

"Thank you," she managed after a few minutes of continuous shovelling. There was a smudge of sauce in the corner of her lovely mouth, and more on her determined little chin, and she looked for the world like a child, rather than a woman of twenty-five years... well, over fifty if you count the years the curse has held them all.

"Think nothing of it, my dear." Gold conjured a weak smile, and- miracle of miracles - she returned with a ghost of one in kind. "Your usual diet must have been less than desirable, for a bowl of noodles and tinned sauce to put you in such raptures."

"It does beat hospital gelatin and the occasional feeding tube," Rosalie confessed. Gold felt a wave of cold shock wash over him.

"Feeding tubes."

Rosalie shrugged. "They took away my books, so I started a hunger strike. It lasted about two days before they took drastic measures. I never got my books back, either."

He would build her an enormous library and spend the rest of his life filling it with any book her heart desired... after he snapped Regina's neck with his bare hands. He was relieved that she was no longer crying. She had spent close to twenty minutes sobbing against him with her damp hair leaving water marks on his already blood-stained tie, smelling of his soap and shampoo. He would have to take her to the pharmacy to pick up more feminine trappings. Definitely a department store for more clothes. Apparently, Emma Swan filled out a sweater a bit better than Rosalie, and the girl had not bothered with the bra. Not that Gold allowed his eyes to linger very long. Maybe a bit longer than he would care to admit to himself; the shame of allowing desire to course through him when he felt her pert breasts pressed up against him would haunt him for weeks. She was not well, and such thoughts were utterly inappropriate.

"Is this forever?" Rosalie asked as she finished the rest of her meal. The question rattled Gold to the core, and his mouth went dry as he struggled for a reply.

"Is what forever, Miss French?"

"Me. Staying here." She furrowed her brow. "I feel as though it was supposed to be forever at some point, somewhere." Her eyes took on a distant look, and Gold wondered if she was back in Fairytale Land, reliving the past.

"It's as long as you want it, my dear."

Her keen, cornflower blue eyes came back into focus, and she stared him down. "I don't want another forever. The hospital was one. I can hardly remember what happened before it."

Gold took the plate and silverware from her and headed to the kitchen sink. After rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher, he looked back at her. "Would you like to talk to someone who could help you remember?" He recalled a man, bloodied and cowering on the floor of his cabin. "Your father?" He suggested, hesitantly, not ready to have her confronted with the fact that he had hospitalized the man.

"No." Her tone had shades of Antarctica in it, her eyes small and hard. "I ran away from him with Garret. That much I remember... I think. There was an accident and Garret..." Rosalie's breathing became labored, and Gold sensed another breakdown.

"Do not trouble yourself with it, dear."

There was a knock at the door, and Gold remembered that he had called Doctor Wise, his personal physician, to examine the girl.

"Miss French, I've invited a friend to come over and have a look at you." Her eyes turned wild and panicked. "He's a doctor, dear... not like the kind you are used to. He just wants to make sure you are well physically." Rosalie relaxed, and then nodded her consent.

Gold knew Doctor Wise from before as the leader of those dwarves that hung around Snow White. In Storybrooke, the two of them had a sort of camaraderie. Doctor Wise's private practice struggled due to the large hospital, and Gold hated hospitals in general, so he put the doctor on a retainer, like a lawyer. It was a mild sort of deal. Doctor Wise never wanted for anything, but he always was required to be no more than a phone call away from Gold at all times. It wasn't like the man could take a vacation out of town, at any rate.

Gold waited in his study, while Doctor Wise conducted his exam in the master bedroom. he tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk, glancing up at the ceiling every five second. After about twenty minutes, Doctor Wise appeared, shaking his head sadly.

"What's the matter with her, Wise?" Gold demanded with a growl in his tone.

"Physically, she is fine. Very underfed, but no permanent damage. She did not manage to get her nose broken in that scuffle, if that's what you are wondering."

"Well?" Gold implored, narrowing his eyes.

"Her mind is very disturbed, Mr. Gold. I am not sure taking her from the hospital was the best thing for her; she clearly is not ready to assimilate back into society-"

"I will not lock her up. It's out of the question." Doctor Wise raised a hand to calm his agitated friend.

"However, I have the name of a good psychiatrist-"

Gold snorted. "Hopper. He's on Regina's payroll."

Doctor Wise shook his head. "No, not Hopper. This man is a friend of mine, and like me, he does not see alot of clients."

"What's wrong with him?" Gold asked, mockingly.

Doctor Wise glared. "He's mute. It's an affliction that many clients probably find unsettling, but Dr. Shiloh is an excellent man. He graduated at the top of his class at Storybrooke U."

Gold made the connection immediately. So, one dwarf's crushing shyness in Fairytale Land morphed into something a bit more debilitating in Storybrooke. The crux being he was in possession of a brilliant mind, and no one had the patience to go through the trouble of finding out. Interesting."

"Where does he live?"

"Oh, some squalid little flat downtown, I would imagine."

"I believe I will have him moved here for the time being, then."

Doctor Wise nodded in agreement. "She will need someone at hand for quite some time, I'm afraid. You are arranging the paperwork to have guardianship handed over to you, I assume."

Gold nodded. "It will be taken care of, I assure you."

The men shook hands and parted ways. Gold rose from his desk in order to seek out Rosalie just as she timidly appeared at the entrance of his study.

"C-come in, lass." He wondered when he would be able to look at her without breath leaving his body along with coherent words.

"You all want to lock me up again, don't you?" She asked in a voice barely the volume of rustling leaves.

Gold crossed the room to her with suprising speed, and took her hand in his. "No, never. I promise you that you will never be held anywhere against your will ever again."

"I'm mad. Someone will find away."

Gold shook his head. "They will have to get through me first. I'll not let anything hurt you again, so long as you want my help."

She smiled. It was a real smile this time. Gold wanted to press his mouth against those upwardly curved red lips, and kiss the corners of her eyes, so grateful he was to see something - anything! - of her former self.

"My knight," she whispered, curtseying before him.

He was done for. The imp would have bowed, but he was a dumbstruck cripple.

Much later they were still in the study. Rosalie had a leather bound book in hand, and she was reverently reading it from the comfort of an overstuffed armchair. Gold was going over ledgers, occasionally risking a glance at the strange girl.

"I think I would like to go to school," Rosalie announced. Gold looked up from his calculating and gave her a small smile.

"Oh?"

"I don't remember finishing high school, and they never let me get my GED in... well, I should like to get that taken care of and enroll in the University." She looked at him, imploringly. "Do you think they will let me even though I'm not... well, I suppose I'm not well."

"I should like to see them try and stop you, my dear."

Rosalie grinned. "I'm afraid I don't have much fighting spirit."

Gold frowned, setting down his fountain pen. "That is the biggest lie I have ever heard."

"Oh?"

"Allow me to remind you that you set fire to a hospital in order to escape it."

Rosalie shook her head, vehemently. "No, that wasn't me. That was... well, it's hard to explain." She sighed deeply, and set down her book, fixing her blue eyes on Gold. "For as long as I can remember I've always sort of-" she gnawed on her bottom lip, clearly struggling for a way to explain."When I'm upset or stressed sometimes I go to sleep."

"I think everyone has benefited from a good nap every now and again, dear."

"No, you don't understand. I'm asleep, but not really. It's like there's this other part of me that takes over . Actually, two parts. One of them is like a warrior. I can hear her voice in my head, but sometimes she doesn't sound like a woman, or like me at all. Sometimes she calls people 'Dearie' right before she attacks. I think she's the reason I spent so much time in that basement."

Gold had been holding his breath. Regina had explained all of this to him, but hearing Rosalie explain it from her perspective was something else entirely.

"And the other?" He inquired hoarsely..

"She rarely shows up, and I think she's from another place entirely." Rosalie smiled. "I was surprised when you knew her name. 'Belle'... I thought I had just made her up, but I think you know her. How is that possible?"

"You will attend school, Rosalie. You will get well, and the world will be yours." He replied determinedly.


	6. Pretty Woman

Towers and Basements

Chapter Six

Pretty Woman

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay! Obviously this story took a big leap to AU-ville after the finale.

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><p>Mary Margaret gaped at the older man, genuinely flummoxed at his request.<p>

"You want me to what?"

Gold had thought he no longer possessed the right amount of shame to achieve a blush, but his cheeks burned hot. "I want you to take my friend, Miss French, and help her purchase a new wardrobe." He looked around the cheerful trappings of Mary Margaret Blanchard's apartment, trying to avoid allowing the young woman to see the awkwardness that was plain on his face. There was many things about Mary Margaret that irked him, her sense of fashion was not one of those things.

"Moe French's daughter?"

Gold sighed impatiently. "Yes. Perhaps you have memory of her before her appearance?"

Mary Margaret shook her head. "I mean, I've heard of her, and the accident, I think. She went to the Catholic school though. We were never acquainted." A look of confusion passed over her features.

"What is it?" Gold inquired.

"It's strange... The accident, I mean. The memory of it is so hazy, but until you mentioned her name, I never gave it a moment's thought."  
>Gold resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The curse had given him false memories as well, but they had always existed side-by-side with the real ones. He had the same experience with the reappearance of Belle... Rosalie. The memory of a major accident had suddenly appeared to him the morning after he had taken the girl into his home. She and that boy who was once Gaston had been driving recklessly. The funny thing was, he had no idea what had happened to the lad.<p>

Gold waved a dismissive hand. "Never mind that. If you take the girl out on a shopping trip, on my expense of course, I promise I will cut next month's rent by fifty dollars." He flinched, inwardly. Deals that affected him financially were not his favorite. Mary Margaret's eyes lit up at the offer.

"Really?"

"... yes."

The young woman nodded. "Seems fair. I'm just curious, though; why don't you take her?"

Why, indeed.

"Miss French is under my care, that is true; however, I would not like to expose her to impertinent remarks if I were to take her shopping like I was some sort of..."

"Sugar daddy?" Mary Margaret helpfully offered.

"Just so." He cleared his throat. "You may have heard rumors about the girl's mental stability. I would like to put you at ease and assure you that they were most likely exaggerated somewhat by Madam Mayor-"

"Let me interrupt you, Mr. Gold; I would never listen to anything that evil woman has to say. The mere fact that Regina is going out of her way to get people to distrust Miss French makes me think that she and I will get along just fine." Mary Margaret crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck out her chin ever-so-slightly, instantly reminding Gold of the warrior princess that she was. He smiled.

"She is a bit fragile at the moment, just the same."

"Duly noted. Send her to the school tomorrow around four; I'll take her for an iced coffee and we'll try to drag Emma along."

"Something tells me that fawning over pretty clothes is not a favorite hobby of our sheriff."

Mary Margaret grinned and shrugged. "I did say I would be dragging her."

Rosalie stood in the hallway outside of Mary Margaret's classroom, feeling quite wrong-footed, and more than a little shy. She looked to the heavy-set, short man beside her with a helpless expression that said she did not want to be where she was. The man patted her on the shoulder, and handed her a note.  
>Relax. I will be with you every step of the way. We can do this.<p>

Rosalie nodded, her face still troubled. She managed a tremulous smile. It had been nearly a week since she escaped from the hospital, and none of her other facets had made an appearance. The man, Mr. Gold, had gone out of his way to make sure she was always comfortable, and he never tried to pry any information about her past experiences from her. She enjoyed Dr. Shiloh's company, although it embarrassed her that the doctor was helping her and taking money for that service from a total stranger. She longed to make herself useful, but Mr. Gold would not allow her to do so much as rinse her plate after a meal. It was infuriating, but not stressful. Never stressful.

Now she was being prepared to interact with others. To have coffee... to shop.

If you are not up to the task, I would be happy to take over, dearie. Rosalie shook her head at the sinister inner-voice. This was shopping, not a self-defence maneuver. She could lie dormant for a little while longer.

The sound of the school bell ringing shook Rosalie to the core, causing her to jump. It was cannon-fire to her. Dr. Shiloh laid a calming hand on her arm, and gently guided her to one side as the hallway flooded with children. A young boy of about ten stopped in front of them, scrutinizing Rosalie with a pair of remarkably intelligent eyes.  
>"You are wearing my mom's clothes," he stated.<p>

Rosalie looked down at her ill-fitting attire, and then back to the dark-haired boy. "Your mother is the sheriff?"

The boy nodded. "My name is Henry, what's yours?" He stuck out his hand, and Rosalie reluctantly took it in her own for a weak handshake.

"Rosalie."

Henry narrowed his eyes. "I can't figure you out just yet. I will let you know when I do." With that, the boy disappeared in the crush of his classmates, leaving Rosalie to exchange confused glances with an equally astonished Dr. Shiloh.

Shortly thereafter, Rosalie laid eyes on the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Mary Margaret walked up to her gracefully, smelling of lilacs, and dressed in a high-waisted skirt of soft yellow wool, matching cardigan, and white button-up blouse with a peter pan collar. She reminded Rosalie of springtime, a season she had not been witness to in a very, very long time. She felt inadequate, but not in the soul-crushing way that the mayor had constantly made her feel.

"My name is Mary Margaret Blanchard; you must be Rosalie French!" Mary Margaret smiled, and Rosalie instantly felt the demon in her mind quell. She nodded shyly. Dr. Shiloh waved at the woman.

"Dr. Shiloh, it's been far too long," she greeted warmly.

"You know him?" Rosalie inquired in a timid voice.

"We had a book club together a while back." Mary Margaret shrugged. "It sort of died out due to lack of interest."

"I love books! I've never been in a book club though." Rosalie explained with a small bit of enthusiasm.

Perhaps a resurrection is in order, Dr. Shiloh wrote down on his notepad. Mary Margaret nodded in agreement.

"That is, if you plan on staying in Storybrooke."

Rosalie's eyes widened. "I don't think I have any place else to go," she admitted gravely.

Mary Margaret seemed to sense Rosalie's sadness, and patted her arm. "Well, no matter; let's go to Granny's and get you some coffee and pie." She grinned at Dr. Shiloh. "Are you sure you are up for a ladies' night, Dr. Shiloh?" She teased. The doctor smiled and nodded. Rosalie saw him write on his notepad and hand a note to Mary Margaret, but did not manage to read it. Whatever it was caused a flicker of sad sympathy cross the woman's beautiful features. It irked Rosalie.

At Granny's, Rosalie was introduced to a scantily clad girl with raven hair whose length rivalled Rosalie's untamed chestnut tresses. Ruby was her name. The amount of bare leg the waitress flaunted around the diner made Rosalie's face burn with an almost prudish sense of shock. That was ridiculous, of course, she thought. It was not that long ago that she had worn similar clothing while joyriding about town with Garret... right?

"Where do you plan on shopping?" Ruby asked, setting down a slice of strawberry rhubarb with a scoop of french vanilla ice cream in front of Rosalie.

"I thought the Sugar Plum Closet would be a nice start," Mary Margaret spoke.

Ruby rolled her eyes. "I suppose if you want to look like someone's grandma - no offence, Mary Margaret- but, I think you should totally take Rosie here to Mallory's Atomic Shop."

Mary Margaret sighed. "That lady is so snobbish and her clothes are so..." Mary Margaret searched for the right words, but the exaggerated hand motions in front of her bosom hinted heavily at what she wanted to say. Dr. Shiloh looked away, blushing and smirking.

"I shop there." Ruby explained in a warning tone.

"Risque."

Ruby grinned at Rosalie, who had been busy digging into her dessert and coffee with rapturous enthusiasm and not listening to the two women debate which style she should settle on. "What do you like to wear, other then Emma's hand-me-downs?"

"Ruby!" An elderly lady from behind the counter scolded harshly, although her features were kind. Rosalie deduced that she must be the Granny of Granny's.

"It's alright, ma'am," said Rosalie, once she had swallowed her latest bite. She turned to Ruby. "I don't rightly remember, to tell you the truth. I suppose whatever I liked to wear has been out of fashion for ages."

Ruby shrugged. "We'll help you find your style. I think you'd look killer in hot pink."

"I was thinking a nice blue to match her eyes," Mary Margaret countered, receiving another eye roll from Ruby.

"If you say so."

The bell in front of the door jingled, announcing another customer. Rosalie's face brightened at the sight of her savior... Emma of the getaway car.

"Hey, Emma! Are you up for a little bit of retail therapy?" Mary Margaret cheerfully inquired. Emma pulled a chair up to the already crowded table, settling next to Rosalie.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away from this quest," Emma replied sarcastically, before turning her attention to Rosalie. "How have you been, Rosalie? Is Gold being decent?"

Rosalie nodded. "Oh yes. I've got my own bedroom, which he insisted on letting me choose the colors for. It seems like..." she trailed off with a thoughtful expression.

"Yes?" Emma prodded.

"I think he wants me to stay there. I don't understand; I don't recall ever seeing him in my life before the institution. Is he normally this generous with people?"

Granny and Ruby shared a collective snort, Mary Margaret choked on her iced coffee, Dr. Shiloh continued to pretend to be part of the furniture, and Emma smirked.

"Not exactly."

Rosalie was uncomfortable with the coterie she had accumulated for her first post-institution shopping spree. Mary Margaret and Dr. Shiloh flanked her on both sides, while Emma trailed behind. Ruby, who had begged to be let off her shift early lead the way, albeit begrudgingly in the direction of Mary Margaret's choice of boutique.

The plump unnaturally red-haired lady behind the counter at Sugar Plum Closet fairly fainted when she was told whose account the shopping trip was going under. She ushered Rosalie almost reverently to a bright pink chaise lounge that was draped in off-white lace and smelled heavily of gardenias. Ruby and Emma sat down beside her, while Dr. Shiloh picked up a copy of the newspaper and hovered near the front door. Mary Margaret took charge with discussing wardrobe options with the shop lady, whose name was Miss Lacey, of all things.

Rosalie was introduced to the world of flats of all colors and designs, soft leather ankle boots that laced, oxfords, sensible pumps. She did not want to even fathom how much of Mr. Gold's money she was wasting when Mary Margaret ordered a pair in each style. After the shoes came pencil skirts, a-line skirts, short skirts, high-waisted shorts, breezy summer blouses, cardigans, wool winter coats, hats for all seasons, nightgowns and a vast, vast array of sundresses. Rosalie was beginning to feel dizzy from all of it.

Lastly, Miss Lacey pulled a hesitant Rosalie into a private fitting room where she was measured for underwear. Rosalie blushingly explained that she had purchased several bras from the local pharmacy when she had first gotten into town. Miss Lacey seemed to struggle between looking outraged and amused, and instead shook her head and pretended Rosalie had said nothing at all.

"This is too much," Rosalie moaned to Mary Margaret, who shook her head with an amused expression. The group was all gathered at the cash register as Mary Margaret proudly slapped down Mr. Gold's credit card on the counter.

"Gold told me the sky was the limit with this trip... I look at it as payback for all the rent extensions he never gave."

"Oooh, she sooo needs to get a dress from Mallory's!" Ruby cried.

"Okay, one dress from Mallory's, but I'm giving the card to you Ruby; I hate going in there, it smells like an ashtray."

Rosalie shook her head, knowing that if she said anything in protest, it would most likely fall on deaf ears. Her new group of friends were having way too much fun sticking it to Mr. Gold's bank account at her expense.

The group, sans Mary Margaret and Dr. Shiloh, who stood outside, spent about ten minutes in Mallory's before Ruby found the "perfect" dress for Rosalie. It was fire hydrant red, with a halter top that tied. The hem fell below Rosalie's knees from behind, but the front was cut high to mid-thigh. The neckline plunged like a stock market disaster.

The Mallory of Mallory's Atomic Shop dead-panned her enthusiasm for the dress. Rosalie's face felt as red as the dress, but did not want to be rude to Ruby or Mallory, and agreed that it was a good purchase. She planned on stuffing it in the back of her closet as soon as she got home.

The parade of new friends walked down the sidewalk, heading towards Gold's pawnshop. Rosalie found herself laughing and trading jokes with the group,and finally feeling normal. One person ended it all abruptly.

A young man whose handsome, sculpted face was obscured by a heavy black beard and scraggly hair came into view. He was in a wheelchair being pushed by a tired, middle-aged woman. The two of them stopped in their tracks when they saw Belle, as did she. All the oxygen fled from her body, and her ears began to buzz loudly.

It was Garret, missing both legs below the knee. 


End file.
